For lunch we go the new 'American' restaurant in the shopping centre. They do salads, which 'The Font' likes. The salad is a great success. Angus's burger less so. The meat comes 'bleu', the fries are of the reheated variety , there is a strangely runny cheddar sauce . The accompanying glass of red wine is borderline drinkable. The replacement of the burger bun with a brioche is perhaps a Frenchification too far.
Out with Bob at 6.30 this morning. A dead badger on the road. Probably some driver rushing through the village in the small hours gave it a glancing blow. The body quite untouched, the face peaceful. Each night Sophie has rushed through the orchard to bark at this snuffling presence on the other side of the fence. A well worn path from the sett marking where parents and cubs have set off on their nightly search for food.
Indoors for a pair of gardening gloves. He's heavy. 15 kilos ? I carry him into a field and put him down by a gorse hedge on a carpet of bog myrtle and wild orchids. Strange the things you notice. A fitting place for this old neighbour. Bob who has sniffed the body and somehow understood that it's dead and nonthreatening watches me, tail down, in silent and calm fascination. This canine understanding of life I find interesting.
Those little things about life with dogs too inconsequential for a diary but too important to go completely unrecorded.